


Don't Know

by orphan_account



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-06
Updated: 2013-01-06
Packaged: 2017-11-23 22:21:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,560
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/627147
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A teenage crush is a strange thing. Sometimes, you've got to take chances, even if others don't like your choice. And in the end, it's worth it. (AmeCan, American south AU)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Don't Know

The winds caressed his hair like a hand. Really, that’s what he wanted, a hand, but he was content with the gentle force of nature.

He glanced over for a fleeting moment to look at Alfred, look at his face, take him in. Every feature he loved, not a thing he disliked, and he was perfect.

Perfect was a sparse word. Of course, many people used it pretty often. “Hey, this food is perfect!” “What a perfect day.” “The harvest this year is just perfect!”

But really, was anything perfect? Perfection was a figment of the mind. Perfect didn’t really exist, Matthew thought. Nothing was really _perfect_.

His silly, youthful mind still thought that Alfred was perfect. It was only natural, to his dismay, how his mind worked. Being a teenager, rampant and emotionally charged - not to mention sexually frustrated. He flushed at the thought. Maybe one day, it would come to that. For now, though, he wanted to take it slow. Slow and sweet, like the music that played on the radio, quintessential of the American south.

A little too stereotypical, perhaps, this little town was. When he’d moved from a large Canadian city, he didn’t expect almost every tale of the south he’d heard to be near-accurate. The favourite talk of the town was the harvest and the weather, people drove on long expressways riding shotgun with one another, and the nights were long and warm with beer and laughter abound.

The small, itchy, absolutely irritating mosquito bites Matthew always woke up with were worth it. Many times, after a night of sitting and listening to drunk family laugh over and over again at the same thing, Alfred would walk over to him, holding out a hand. They would change the music - much to the inattention of the drunken adults - to something nice and slow, country still. Alfred would press up close to him, he would grumble playfully, and gently take his hand. He’d twine his fingers with Matthew’s holding firm-but-not-too-tight, and he’d smile that amazing, _perfect_ smile. His dimples became apparent and Matthew wanted to kiss them, but not yet. Not now. He liked Alfred - how embarassing, a teenage crush. But the way Alfred treated him, like an actual being, had him falling head over heels for him. It was glaringly obvious that the feeling was mutual, but Matthew knew (and felt) that they were both too bashful to say it.

All this ran through his mind as Alfred drove slowly down the expressway. The sun was beginning to set and their parents would surely have their skin if they weren’t home by dark. They were on return from the pier, a windy day of fishing. The sun was hot and the catch wasn’t good, but spending time with Alfred made it all worthwhile. Alfred made anything better.

He remembered when he’d moved. A big change, that was, for him, and he’d been a wreck. He cried nearly every day, at school and otherwise, and he hated every bit of the town, the stupid little convenience store and long-winding fields alike.

That was three or four years ago. He’d lost track of the time, the years went by so fast. People grew accustomed to him, stopped mocking his ‘accent’, (he didn’t think he had one) welcomed him, even. The town never quite kept up with the times, technology-wise. He guessed it didn’t do well with change. Maybe that’s why, at first, they didn’t like him.

Alfred, it seemed, didn’t feel bitterly towards him, but apathetic. He looked at him a few times, sure, and exchanged an occasional mutter when needed. But it was the one day that Alfred decided to sit with him at lunch that it changed.

_“What’s up?” he asked, as if he were greeting him._

_“Just a little stressed,” Matthew replied, his voice sad and strained._

_“Aw, wish I knew how that went. Where you from?”_

_“Canada. Ontario, to be exact.” Though he didn’t expect anyone around this place to know anything about his home country. It didn’t seem as though they knew a moth from a butterfly._

_“Up north, huh? Heard there’s good fishing up there,” he replied with a cheeky grin._

From then on, Matthew couldn’t remember how quickly they’d become friends, good friends, best friends - to whatever they were now.

Matthew’s fond reminisce was interrupted when he became vaguely aware that Alfred took an exit, rather than continuing on towards the town.

“Where are we headed?” he asked, puzzled. He’d never been down that way before.

“’s a surprise,” Alfred chimed, smiling to himself. If he wasn’t driving, Matthew would have given him a light, playful smack on the arm. He pouted instead.

“This ‘surprise’ better be good, then, if it’s gonna mean my parents on my ass ’til who knows when,” he grumbled.  
Alfred’s smile disappeared at Matthew’s attitude, and he replied quietly. “I hope it is.”

A smile pulled at the corner of Matthew’s mouth, and he turned the radio back up again. He idly tapped his feet to the sounds, preoccupied with observing his surroundings. The road beneath the worn tyres of the car had turned to dirt, and the night was eerily still, beside all the noises coming from the car, the wind, and the chirping of crickets.

Occasionally, there was the ribbit of a frog, and the road became more grainy. Matthew inferred there was a lake, or maybe a river nearby, and he wondered what Alfred was up to. The only thing he could guess was fishing at night, which _really_ didn’t seem like a valid reason to be lectured by his parents. He hoped they were having another barbeque party, at least, in which case, they wouldn’t care about anything but alcohol and cigarettes. What an awful way to be.

Shortly after, a long line of trees ended to reveal a sparkling lake. Matthew, admittedly embarrassed, had never known it was there. It further led him on his assumption that Alfred wanted to go fishing again.  
Alfred pulled up on the side of the road, grinning at Matthew. “Don’t need that,” he sing-songed when Matthew started for the trunk of the car. Matthew blinked in confusion, stepping onto the marshy lakebed after Alfred.

He stepped carefully - or, as carefully as he could with only moonlight to guide his bad vision.  
Alfred’s pace slowed a bit to accomodate Matthew. What little grace he had was better than Matthew’s absence of.

When Alfred reached the edge of the lake, he sat down, coaxing Matthew to sit down next to him by patting the ground.

“So…is this worth getting yelled at by your parents?” he asked nonchalantly.  
“…It’s a lake,” Matthew grumbled, to which Alfred replied, “So it is,” grinning.

All the while, Matthew didn’t notice that Alfred was subtly moving closer and closer to him.  
He looked over at Alfred, gaze questioning. “Why’d you take me here? We’re going to get a hell of a lot of mosquito bites…”

Alfred hesitated. “Seemed like the right place,” he said finally. Matthew blinked once more. He turned to look at Alfred, his face gently illuminated by the moon.

“What for? You didn’t want me to get the fishing rod, so…” Matthew trailed off.

Alfred snorted at his remark, leaning over a bit. “There’s somethin’ I wanna tell you, but it’s kinda dumb. So don’t get mad at me, Mattheeeeeeeew,” he dragged out Matthew’s name just the way that made his stomach flutter.

Matthew averted his gaze for his moment. “I won’t,” he mumbled, looking back at Alfred.

Alfred smiled. Matthew studied his features, noticing his bright blue eyes entrapped in moonlight. The sight was a pretty one, and he felt heat in his face. He breathed out.

_You have pretty eyes, Alfred._

“What is it?” Matthew asked without ceremony. He noticed Alfred move away a bit, and his expression softened.

“I promise, I won’t laugh at you,” Matthew tried carefully. He looked at Alfred gently, as if his gaze could break him. He whimpered a bit.

Alfred let out a long, deep sigh, before speaking after what seemed like ages.

“Okay, okay. I like you, Matthew. I was tryin’ to be all romantic-like, but I guess you don’t like it. Sorry…”

Matthew felt the need to apologise, and he quickly put his hands up on instinct.  
“No, no, no! Don’t take it that way!” he spoke frantically.  
  
Alfred’s expression changed quickly, and he smiled hopefully at Matthew. Matthew smiled back sadly. He hoped and wished he hadn’t upset Alfred. That was the absolute last thing on earth he wanted to happen.  
He moved a bit closer to Alfred, the warm breeze rustling his hair.

Matthew started to say something, but he froze in his tracks. He felt a warming sensation on his lips, unlike anything he'd ever felt before. Alfred held him as their lips met. Like fire. Warm, and loving. Matthew didn't know what to do, so he kissed back. He loved the feeling, and he realised he loved Alfred. Not liked. _Loved._  
He didn't want the moment to end, but he assumed Alfred was losing air because he reluctantly pulled back.

“So, what do ya think?” Alfred breathed, smiling at Matthew, dimples and all.

“I think this is worth my parents’ fury,” Matthew giggled, falling back onto Alfred and peppering his face with adoring kisses.


End file.
